


bury me til i confess

by heyitsathrowaway



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, Orgasm Delay/Denial, spoilers for WiH 29
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 01:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsathrowaway/pseuds/heyitsathrowaway
Summary: This wasn't really the plan. The plan to get in on whatever it was Hella and Adelaide were doing behind closed doors was much more complicated; Adaire knows how to play the long game to get what she wants.





	bury me til i confess

**Author's Note:**

> i think 'fall out boy lyric' is maybe rock bottom as far as fic titles go, but it's not MY fault an instrumental version of uma thurman is the first thing on my writing playlist, and also i couldn't bring myself to call it 'getting fucky in swordtown.txt' which was my working title. 
> 
> A N Y W A Y...................

Adaire has never seen Hella like this. A deep flush runs from her navel to her neck, a fine sheen of sweat covering the naked expanse of her skin, and she's breathing in quick and shallow. Her eyes are open but dazed.

It's all in sharp contrast to Adelaide, who looks as cool and unruffled as ever, even as she holds Hella spread open across her lap, her knees tucked between Hella's and keeping them apart. 

Kneeling between Adelaide's legs, Adaire would say that she's got a pretty decent view. 

This wasn't really the plan. The plan to get in on whatever it was Hella and Adelaide were doing behind closed doors was much more complicated; Adaire knows how to play the long game to get what she wants. But Adelaide had ruined it by inviting Adaire to dine in her quarters, and Adaire had shown up in her nicest dress to find this: Hella panting and squirming in Adelaide's lap, her head thrown back over Adelaide's shoulder.

Adaire would be pissed if Hella didn't look so tempting. And her nicest dress isn't really that nice. It'll do just fine on the floor. If Adelaide wants to say anything about Adaire leaving it crumpled in the doorway of the room, she hasn't yet.

"Well?" Adaire asks. Adelaide had directed her this far, but no farther, and Adaire gets the sense she isn't the kind of woman who appreciates others taking initiative. The chair she's sitting in--someone must have dragged it into the center of the room--isn't quite a throne, but it isn't quite _not_ , either. 

Adelaide raises one perfect eyebrow and hitches up one of Hella's legs, her hand under Hella's thigh. "Eat her out for me, won't you? And don't let her come." 

Adaire grins and gets to work. Hella is wet already, slick against Adaire's fingers as she parts her lips. Still, Adaire starts slow; she figures that's what Adelaide's after. Adaire can appreciate the appeal of getting under Hella's skin and messing her up. 

She licks Hella slowly, exploring. Adaire puts her hands on Hella's thighs, feeling the way she trembles under her touch. Hella's harsh breaths are loud, until they cut off with a gasp. Adaire looks up to see Adelaide's hand wrapped in Hella's hair, tugging her head back and baring her neck. Adelaide bites her there, and then she starts leaving sucking kisses along Hella's throat. 

Adaire had expected Hella to be at least a little mouthy in bed. Maybe she would be, if it was just her and Adaire. But with Adelaide here, it's like Hella doesn't have any words left.

There is no _way_ Adaire is going to let them start without her next time. 

Hella makes a soft noise as Adelaide kisses her on the mouth, using the hand in her hair to move her where Adelaide wants her. Adaire kisses Hella too, mouthing at her clit, satisfaction running through her as Hella moans roughly, muffled by Adelaide's mouth. 

Adelaide breaks away. Any unevenness in her own breathing is obscured by Hella, who's panting, eyes shut tight. 

"Good," Adelaide says. Adaire isn't sure who she's addressing. She strokes a hand through Hella's hair, soothing her. "Use your fingers."

Great minds. Adaire presses one finger into Hella slowly, her tongue moving in loose circles against Hella's clit. She speeds up as she fucks her, until Hella's breath is leaving her in a whine on every exhale. When Adaire presses in another finger, Hella's hips jerk against her mouth. Adaire leans back and licks her lips, smug, still pressing her fingers deep into her. Adelaide has one hand around Hella's throat and another tight against one of her nipples.

"I didn't say you could move," she tells her, voice deceptively light. Adaire can hear the steel underneath it. Hella can too, if the look on her face is anything to go by. Adaire squeezes her legs together, because _fuck_. Adelaide sounds like glass when it shatters. 

"Okay," Hella says, and then she takes a deep breath. Doing, from where Adaire is sitting, a pretty bad job of collecting herself. "Okay. I won't move."

"Good girl," Adelaide says, thick and smooth as honey. Hella's hands clench against her own thighs. 

Adaire is so hot she feels like she's going to catch fire. She wants to sit on Hella's face, to rub off against her thigh, to feel Hella's calloused fingers clenching in her hair. Instead she applies herself to pulling Hella methodically to pieces. She pays attention to the noises Hella makes and the tightness in her thighs under Adaire's hand--gods, she must be aching, being this spread open for so long. 

Hella starts to clench around Adaire's fingers, her voice gone hoarse, and Adaire pulls back. Lets the spring unwind. Hella curses at her with impressive creativity, which makes Adaire grin: there's some of that fire she was expecting.

Adelaide laughs, rich and deep. She tips Hella's head back and kisses her on the forehead. "One more time," she says, addressing Adaire, but her eyes steady on Hella's face. Adaire can't really blame her. They make a pretty fucking picture, the two of them, Hella this close to wrecked and Adelaide still impeccable. A curl has escaped from her complicated braid, the only sign that she's in the middle of anything even a little untoward. Adaire is pretty sure her own hair must be a mess by now. She'll have to get Adelaide to teach her that trick. 

Adaire's knees are starting to ache, and anyway, she wants to _see_. She sits back on her heels and presses her thumb against Hella's clit. She's so sensitive now that it only takes delicate touches to make her toss her head. Adelaide is murmuring something in her ear that Adaire can't hear, though she can hazard a pretty good guess: _just like that, good girl, you're doing so well_. 

Hella whines into Adelaide's neck when Adaire gets her to the edge again. Adaire kisses Hella's knee and palms herself, grinding down against the heel of her hand. She runs her thumb against Hella one more time, watching the way she shudders.

"That's enough," Adelaide says. Finally, she's a little breathless. Adaire trails a few wet and sharp kisses along the inside of Hella's thighs before she leans back. Something to remind Hella that _she's_ here, too. "Help me get her to the bedroom, won't you?"

If Adelaide talked over Adaire's head the ways she's doing to Hella, like she isn't even there, Adaire wouldn't consider herself responsible for her actions. Hella doesn't seem to mind. Adaire shouldn't be surprised: Hella's always been a soldier at heart. 

They make it to the bedroom without incident, though they must look ridiculous: Hella's legs aren't entirely up to holding her weight, but she's taller than both Adaire and Adelaide, supporting her on either side.

It's a nice room, exactly as opulent as Adaire would expect, all decked out in shining whites and deep blues. The bed is huge. Fit for a queen. Adelaide directs Hella to kneel there, hands at her sides. Adaire catches her eye and winks at her. Hella snorts.

Adelaide grabs Hella's face in one hand and jerks her around. She tilts Hella's chin up and kisses her, deep and biting. When she's done, she presses her lips together, savoring, and she doesn’t move her hand from Hella's jaw. Instead she uses it to angle her face towards Adaire. She looks at Adaire and raises an eyebrow, the way you might offer someone the rest of a piece of fruit you've been eating. 

Well, Adaire didn't get where she is in life by turning down opportunities. She has to put a knee on the bed to get high enough to reach, and then she takes what Adelaide's offering and kisses Hella. Her mouth is warm and her lips are chapped and she kisses like she has a knife to her throat. Adaire slips her tongue into Hella's mouth and kisses her deep, the way you kiss someone you've known a long time, and Hella opens her mouth and lets her get away with it. It's a heady kind of power.

When Adaire pulls back, Adelaide is watching her. She can feel Adelaide's gaze on her skin like a cloak around her shoulders. 

It's a lot, to have all of Adelaide's attention focused on her. She can't imagine what it must have been like for Hella to have her in her _head_ all the time

Adelaide reaches out and unpins Adaire's hair, letting it fall around her shoulders in waves, and then she wraps it around her fist and yanks Adaire forward, pulling her into a kiss. Hella makes a sound like she's been punched. 

Adelaide topples Adaire over back onto the bed, straddling her easily. "Watch," she tells Hella over her shoulder. "And don't touch yourself." 

"Bossy," Adaire comments, partially just to see what Adelaide will do. 

What she does is take Adaire's hands, pin them above her head in one of her own, and bite her neck, hard. 

"Fuck," Adaire says, with feeling.

"If you have a problem with the proceedings," Adelaide murmurs, "you're welcome to leave." She digs her teeth in just under Adaire's ear. "I'm sure Hella and I will get along just fine without you."

"Hey, hey, I'm not complaining." Adaire tilts her head back, breathing out until her voice is a little steadier. "Just an observation."

"In the future," Adelaide says, trailing her hand down Adaire's chest, "feel free to keep your observations to yourself." She presses her hand in-between Adaire's legs, and watches Adaire shiver with a cool and appreciative gaze.

"You may touch me," she says, releasing Adaire's hands, and she sounds so imperious that it almost makes Adaire not want to. That, of course, is the most infuriating thing: of course she's still _going to_. Only an idiot would get herself into bed with the Empress of Pearls and then not bother to sample the goods.

Adaire runs her hands up from Adelaide’s thighs to her stomach to her breasts, her skin shockingly cool against Adaire’s fingers. Which makes sense, of course: Adelaide is dead, for however much that counts from inside a sword. Hella killed her. And for some reason Adaire, who prides herself on keeping her personal relationships as straightforward as they can be, decided that these are the two people she really wanted to fuck.

When she turns her head to see Hella, biting her lip and watching Adaire’s hands sweep over Adelaide’s skin, she stops wondering. It’s been a long time since Adaire has done something dumb because of a pretty girl. She’d thought she’d broken the habit. 

She wraps a hand around the back of Adelaide’s neck and pulls her down, digging her teeth into her lower lip. Adelaide shifts, moving so that she’s straddling one of Adaire’s thighs. She grinds herself down against Adaire, gasping and grinning against Adaire’s mouth. Adaire wants to wreck her, wants to take her apart piece by piece, and she knows she’s not going to get to. She doesn’t need to have known the Queen of Pearls for long to know that no one gets to see her truly undone.

Except, maybe, for Hella. Hella, who’s spread her thighs wide enough that when Adaire glances at her she can see how wet she is, who must be burning up from watching them and not doing anything about it. Adaire puts her hands on Adelaide’s hips and pretends that they’re Hella’s, that it’s Hella pressing down against her and Hella’s nails digging into her arms and Hella’s breathing that's going rough, small telling hitches in her breath. 

She’s never going to get to touch Hella this way, not if Adelaide isn’t there orchestrating it. Hella, beside them, eyes wide and hot, moans. 

Adelaide sits up, rubbing herself in tight circles against Adaire’s thighs. She's beautiful above Adaire, every inch the queen, even naked and sweaty, mouth open against her pleasure. Adaire looks past her to see Hella, still kneeling a few feet away from them, her hands white-knuckled against her thighs. She's quivering with the need to touch herself, hips bucking up against nothing, but she only has eyes for Adelaide. 

"You should see her when I tie her up," Adelaide says, leaning down so that she can speak into Adaire's ear. "Then she stops holding back and really lets herself struggle." She grinds down harder against Adaire's thigh, making herself gasp. "Oh--and the _marks_ rope leaves on her--"

Adaire turns her head away, leaving Adelaide to mouth at her neck. As if it will help; when she looks at Hella, her eyes roving over the long expanse of Adelaide's back, Adaire can't help but think about what she would look like with her arms bound behind her back, rope crawling up her thighs and a knot between her legs, Hella squirming against it--

She must make some sort of noise, because Adelaide laughs. She levers herself back up, settling down against Adaire until she finds an angle that she likes. Adelaide brings one of her hands down to rub against her clit, and she makes herself come like that, her head tilted back and her eyes closed, both Adaire and Hella watching her, enraptured. She rocks down against Adaire a few more times, shivering and humming to herself.

Adaire wonders for a moment if she’s going to get told off if she touches herself, because _damn_ , but it’s barely a moment before Adelaide has climbed off of her and is pushing her farther down the bed, spreading her legs and getting herself between them. 

Adelaide spreads Adaire with her hands and leans down to lick at her, all finesse. Adaire claps a hand over her mouth before she can shout. “Gods,” she says, “warn a girl, why don’t you?”

Adelaide bites down on her thigh, hard. That bruise is going to be there for a few days. “Shut up,” she says, voice mild, and she presses her tongue against Adaire’s clit. Adaire cries out and Hella makes a rough noise, low in her throat. Adaire thinks about Adelaide doing this to Hella. She wonders if every time Hella was particularly inattentive in the morning as they broke camp, it was because she’d spent all night in her dreams getting fucked by Adelaide, delicate and measured and harsh all at once, just like this. That’s not the thought that brings her over the edge: instead, it’s the noise Hella makes when Adelaide leans in even closer and sucks on Adaire’s clit, her fingers pressing into Adaire’s thighs hard enough to bruise. Hella sounds like she’s been stabbed, and her eyes are only on Adaire, on her red face and messy hair, and Adaire comes like that, trembling and digging her hands into the sheets so she doesn’t deign to ruin Adelaide’s hair. 

If Adaire could think of something clever to say she would say it, at least so she could pretend that Adelaide didn’t just take her apart without even breaking a sweat. But she can’t, so instead she tips her head back and closes her eyes and breathes.

That lasts until she hears Hella’s sharp indrawn breath, and then Adaire sits up, because like hell she’s missing this. 

Adelaide is kneeling in front of Hella, pressed close all along her front. She puts her hand to Hella's cheek, almost gently, but even from here Adaire can see how tight her grip is. 

"Please," Hella says. Her voice is a mess, rough like she's just fought a hundred battles. She's shaking. Adelaide smiles. Her hands slips down from Hella's cheek. She walks her fingers down Hella's throat, along her collarbone and down her sternum, across her scarred stomach and down to her pubic mound. She pauses there, and turns to Adaire. Adelaide tilts her head, another silent invitation. It's the sort of thing that would feel magnanimous coming from anyone else. From Adelaide, it's condescending, like she's deigning to share a toy. 

Adaire goes anyway. She slides behind Hella and leans up so that she can hook her chin over her shoulder, so that when Adelaide presses two precise fingers up against Hella's clit she can feel the way Hella shudders. 

Adaire reaches around to cup Hella's breasts, thumbing at her nipples. She pinches them just as Adelaide twists her hand, and Hella writhes between them, tipping her head back against Adaire. Adaire tucks her face into Hella's neck and mouths at her pulse, feeling the way it jumps under her tongue. She can hear her own heart pounding in her ears. 

Adelaide draws it out more than she did with Adaire, for no other reason, Adaire thinks, than that she's just that much of an asshole. Finally, after Hella has started gasping into Adaire's ear every time Adelaide moves her hand, Adelaide leans in close. For a moment all three of them are sharing breath.

"Go ahead," Adelaide says in a voice like silk, and Adaire can feel the way Hella tenses as she comes. Her mouth is open on a gasp, slack, and Adaire leans in to kiss her. Hella kisses her back, messy and uncoordinated, and for the first time all night, Adaire feels like she actually has a handle on what's happening.

Then she breaks away and sits back on her heels, and Hella wobbles for a moment before falling forward into Adelaide's arms. 

Adelaide lays her back down on the bed, and Hella rolls over to bury her face in the pillows.

"Hmm," Adelaide says, tilting her head to the side, looking Adaire up and down. "An acceptable performance."

Queen of death or not, Adaire is not about to take that lying down. She lays down, pulls a pillow out from under her head, and throws it at Adelaide's face.

For a moment Adelaide merely blinks at her. Then, in precise, careful movements, she picks the pillow up and throws it back at Adaire with force. Even with a pillow, she packs a punch.

Hella, face still buried in her arms on the bed, begins to laugh. 

Adelaide stands, still perfectly composed. She wraps herself in a sheer robe that doesn't hide much of anything, to Adaire's delight. "I'll go ring for some food for us," she says before she sweeps out of the room. Adaire can see how this woman once commanded the attention of an entire court.

Now she attends the attention of Hella. Adaire wonders if she thinks the trade was worth it.

Left alone with her thoughts and with Hella, sprawled blissfully out on the sheets, Adaire starts to feel a little claustrophobic. She sits up and crosses her legs, running her hand through Hella's hair. Hella opens one eye to look up at her.

"She's really got your wrapped around her finger, huh," Adaire says, twirling a lock of Hella's hair and tugging, just a little. 

Hella groans. "She's...something," she says, haltingly. Hella rolls over and covers her eyes with her arm. She looks--completely fucked out, if Adaire is being honest. Sweaty and bruised and messed up. "It's complicated." 

"Do you get the feeling," Adaire says slowly, running her hand down Hella's flank, "that Adelaide is the only one who completely got what she wanted out of that?"

"Every fucking time," Hella stays, still muffled. "It was like that back in Nacre, too. She's the worst."

"Yeah," Adaire agrees. She watches the rise and fall of Hella's chest. "So, same time next week?"

Hella is beautiful when she laughs. Adaire is in such deep shit.


End file.
